


The Mad Batter

by Anonxfiction



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Negan (Walking Dead) Swears, Negan (Walking Dead) is an automatic warning, Negan Being Negan (Walking Dead), Possessive Negan (Walking Dead), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 14:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14451573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonxfiction/pseuds/Anonxfiction
Summary: Two lovers dance at the edge of an abyss. One missteps. The other gazes into darkness to find the abyss smiling back.





	1. Ricochet Lullaby

_When the world ended, I thought I was safe; I thought I could find life among the dead._

_Yet somehow, in a decaying world, my secrets were alive._

_And I'd just nearly put them to rest when I met you._

* * *

 

Gripping the edge of a disjointed branch with sturdy, white knuckles, I beat its tail end against the ground with two swift taps. I squared my feet, bent my knees and planted my back foot, a grin plastered over my face.

A low whistle escaped Eli's lips. "Well, shit," he teased, "Aren't you a professional?" Hedge apple wedged between his fingers, he smirked at my ridiculous stance.

"What, you've never played ball?" I shot back, smile widening to reveal a set of straight pearly whites. Of course, he'd played baseball. Though Eli gradually crept into his late forties, he was ex-military: a towering, broad-muscled man who easily ran circles around his other, younger teammates. "Just throw the damn thing already, would ya?"

Eli ran a hand through his tousled dark hair, winking in my direction. The gesture elicited the dramatized roll of my eyes. I watched as he lowered the makeshift ball from his chest, attempting and failing to replicate a professional-pitcher's form, before firing the apple across the clearing. We burst into side-splitting laughter as I swung my branch into the apple, causing the limb to splinter down the middle with a resounding, _crack_. Holding my hands over my sides, I cackled uncontrollably. Eli, meanwhile, mouthed his hand, attempting to suppress his own laughter.

"What? Are you guys trying to attract a horde of the dead? Keep it down," spat our third companion, Avett. Like a pair of giggling school girls being scolded by their teacher, we hushed, our faces turning stone cold and glowing apologetically.

Contrary to the always-beaming Eli, Avett most often wore a tight-lipped scowl. He was tall and lanky, though muscular enough to hold his own against the growlers. Accustomed to the dangerously narrowed, pale green stare that leered beneath his stringy, blonde hair and often felt specifically molded to my allure for trouble, I'd lower my head and fail to remain unseen by his all-consuming glare.

Avett was smart. He could smell trouble a mile out and somehow always knew when Eli and I were stirring the pot. That was probably why he'd been chosen to lead our scavenging team in the first place. I knew that Eli had been a little more than pissed when it was announced that Avett, a man nearly ten years his junior with next to no experience in combat, would be calling the shots. But what could be done? Eli settled for giving Avett a sarcastic nickname and moving on with his life, though an air of hostility persisted between the two.

We quieted until the chirps of the forest were the only discernable sounds within our proximity. Avett's eyes returned to the page of the book he'd been reading; he gradually settled back into the bed of our Chevy.

"Damn, Captain Buzzkill," Eli prodded, striding toward the truck and plopping down beside one of the front tires, "So where's Chey's group? They should'a been here like an hour ago."

I followed suit, leaning against the side of the truck and anticipating Avett's response. Without averting his gaze from the page of his book, Avett answered, "Find a hobby or something. We're staying put for right now."

Although he didn't acknowledge the resulting scoff from Eli, I figured that Avett, too, must have been curious about Chey's team's whereabouts, because he proceeded to slide his unoccupied hand to the walkie secured near his belt buckle. He pressed the device to his lips and triggered the push-to-talk button.

"This is Avett Hearst reporting from team five. Team six, what is your status?" he quizzed. But minutes later, still awaiting their response, we were greeted only with the _crackling_ of radio waves. I exchanged a concerned glance with Avett, prompting him to break the silence, "They probably found some growlers over there. Might have turned off their walkie so they didn't have to risk the extra noise." I nodded, offering him a smile, though the worst-case scenarios stewed in my mind. Avett's assurances didn't put-off Eli quite as easily.

"You sure about that?" Eli pressed, a hard frown occupying the place of his previously cheerful smile. "Shouldn’t we think about gettin over there and helpin' em out?"

"Could do more harm than good if it's just a few growlers," I noted. "Besides. They're capable of handlin' themselves. If they want help they'll ask."

Eli sucked in the air between his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. "Yeah, guess that's true."

It was only as daytime shades began to dispel to dusk that Avett closed the cover of his book, once again yanking the walkie toward his mouth. "Avett Hearst reporting from team five. Team six, I need your status." I frowned at the newly persistent edge in Avett's tone, dread settling in the pit of my stomach.

And still, there was no response from team six. Nighttime rapidly approached. The once peaceful silence of the clearing gradually became unnerving. As Eli and I exchanged concerned glances, Avett added, "We're headed back to base for the evening, team six. We'll await your arrival at dawn. Same location. Do not risk after-hour travel. Stay safe out there." Returning the walkie to its place and sitting up in his seat, I took notice of Avett's worn expression, his tired eyes inspiring my growing uneasiness.

"It's a real possibility that team six has been compromised," Avett asserted after a lasting pause, expression cold as stone.

"Fuck'n hell. What makes you so sure?" Eli countered, jaw clenching.

Leaping from the bed of the rusted Chevy, Avett opened the driver's door and hopped inside, shoving his keys into the ignition and twisting until the old truck roared to life. He turned to us as we squeezed into the back and passenger’s seats. "Chey's team isn't stupid. They're one of the best. They would have called."

Avett had the nasty habit of always being right. And he was. They were normally responsive. If it was growlers, then Chey's team was either in one hell of a predicament or already dead. "We're not actually gonna leave them out there, are we?" I complained, an accusatory tone rising in my throat.

Avett didn't respond. At least not at first. After all, he knew what was at stake; pursuing Chey's team meant disregarding _his_ orders. Arker, our leader, would be incredibly fucking pissed if we spent the night chasing a ghost. Like Avett, Arker was rational. Practical. He lived by a set of principles. Live smart. Or die. And he was right. That was the law of the land. Those who followed the rules, rationalized the consequences of actions, were the true survivors. Everyone else was lucky or already dead. Life was a coin toss and he spent his days flipping as few coins as possible.

"Sorry," Avett finally answered. And he meant it. He knew that Chey and her crew were most likely growler chow at this point. But that was Avett. A rule follower, just like Arker. Still, he must have felt the need to explain himself, because he continued, "We don't have any idea what we're walking into. We don't even know if it's growlers. Could be people. And what then? Don't want them thinking we're sitting ducks. These walkies only reach a certain distance, so they've got to know we're nearby if it's people. If they think we've gone home for the night we've at least got the element of surprise come tomorrow morning."

I knew deep down that this was what it meant to survive. To play by the rules. Yet leaving these people, _our_ people-acquaintances, friends, family-it was wrong. So when Eli snapped at Avett, I understood.

"Wait, so you're seriously suggesting we just leave them out there? It's almost nightfall, man. You know that the chances of us finding them alive tomorrow morning are slim to none. Fuck that." Eli reached over, grasping the tarnished handle and throwing open the Chevy's creaking door. Avett closed his hands around the steering wheel, scowling at his subordinate.

"Don't be an idiot. You'll get yourself killed. You know we can't follow them. It's too late. Those are the rules."

"Ark can shove his goddamned rules. These are our people. What the hell, Avett? Are you really that much of a puss? Fuck it, I'll go alone."

Then, as Avett struggled to respond, I slid from my seat, joining Eli's side. Gently, I added, "Listen, I understand Arker's rules. Why we follow them, I mean, but sometimes the right answer isn't always the right thing, ya know? It's okay. Eli and I will go and see what happened and we'll meet you back at Demesne."

I could see it in his eyes. Avett was livid. It was only as he snapped his hanging jaw shut, leaned over, and slammed the truck's door closed that I questioned my choice. Avett sped off, leaving us behind as the sun dipped beyond the horizon. The rev of his engine faded into the distance, replaced by the whispers of after-hour critters. Bright oranges and deep pinks tinted the surrounding skyline, draping the woods in lesser shades of dying light. As we began our wordless trek into the darkness, my head hung.

An hour later, we reached the outskirts of Jefferson High School, team six's mark. Scouts had described the place as an uncharted goldmine. Even from here, we could see growlers roaming the outskirts, the shuffling of decomposing corpses wandering aimlessly and the rasp of their low, deathly growls haunting the night. I recalled that the scouts had described their numbers as "manageable", but even from afar, and with darkness impeding clear visibility, our scouts hadn't given the growlers nearly enough credit. They crowded along the high school's exterior, the vast majority congregated along the northern stretch of campus and flooding nearby windows and doors with their frenzied, hunger-driven advances. Luckily for us, whatever commotion had attracted this clusterfuck to one end of the school, had left the southern walls nearly growler-free. _That_ would be our entry point.

We crept along the tree line, rushing toward a fence that divided the inner and outer boundaries of the school and hugging the corner as we moved toward the southern entrance. Before we pressed forward, Eli whispered, "Stick close with me, got it?"

"Tch-great advice, E," I teased. And even under the blanket of darkness I knew he was smiling. We vaulted over the fence, charging toward the doors. Not surprisingly, they were locked.

"Fuckin' figures. Nothing's ever easy, huh?" Eli gestured toward a nearby wall of glass windows. In response, I blindly groped through the darkness for something sturdy enough to break the glass. Eli followed suit, his fingers eventually wrapping around a cracked metal pipe that had been propped behind a nearby dumpster. "Here we go. Stand back."

I complied, watching with wide eyes as Eli threw the entirety of his force into the window, which abruptly shattered, attracting the attention of any growlers in sight. About half a dozen dead lumbered toward us. "We'll deal with those fuckers later, come on!" Eli yelled as we stepped over the fractured remains of glass, entering a sizable room with high ceilings. It held the school's indoor pool. I took a moment to appreciate how untouched the place looked; hand-painted decorations were strung along the walls. Banners presented the names of long-deceased students. Sparkling, white bleachers lined the ceramic-tiled walls. Eli pulled me along as the growlers trailed behind and we promptly took refuge in a pitch-black locker room. There, Eli dug through the bag slung over his shoulder, emerging with a pocket-sized flashlight that cut through the darkness with the push of a button. "Let's keep moving."

We followed the light beam through maze-like, locker-lined hallways. At the sound of unfamiliar, human voices, Eli turned off the flashlight. He took my hand, leading me around a corner that led us toward the main office. From afar, we saw light. More than a dozen strangers were illuminated by a lantern's flickering flame.

_Thud._

We approached. The strangers were bent over a pile of bodies, rummaging through the deceased's personal affects and stacking together already raided corpses. Among the dead were Chey and her team. Luckily, none of the men managed to catch sight of our horrified faces.

_Thud._

                _Thud._

We ducked along a countertop dividing the entryway with administrator offices. I held my face in my hands, struggling to make sense of the sight we'd just witnessed. Meanwhile, Eli reached for his holstered gun, his rage suppressed only by the need to remain concealed. As my mind reeled, I noticed movement in my peripheral.

**_THUD._ **

We jumped, tilting our frames toward the combination of sound and movement stirring nearby. Eli turned on his light, flashing it in the direction of the noise. My breath hitched at the sight that emerged from the blackness. Eli threw an arm out in front of me, turning to meet my gaze.

_Fuck._

Hundreds of growlers were stuffed into the entryway of the building, throwing their bodies against a single set of glass doors and windows that separated us from becoming their midnight snack.

Eli hurried to switch off his light as a set of voices approached. The growlers faded into the darkness.

"Hon, did you really think you could up and walk out on us?" a male voice accused over the sound of high-pitched crying. He was close. Probably within a couple dozen feet of our position.

A woman's sob was the only discernible response. Suddenly, her cry became muffled.

"I'm dyin' to see what _he_ does to you when we get back." There was a scuffle, followed by the woman's stifled screaming. I felt Eli tense up beside me. He was one bad judgement call from charging in.

_He'd forced my hand._

"Wait here." I whispered as loud as I dared, "Wait for my signal, then start shooting. Make sure you cover my ass when I get back."

I couldn't see his expression, but I knew he'd protest.

"I'll be fine. I promise, E."

He didn't stop me as I reached for his flashlight, then rushed from the office, making a mad dash around the corner to retrace our steps. I flipped on the flashlight. It wasn't long before the beam of the light shone on a little red box screwed into the wall, the words "FIRE ALARM" printed in bold, white letters along the top. Holding my breath, I threw my hand down on the lever.

Flashing lights and screeching sirens blared across campus. I broke out into a sprint; the sound bounced off the walls. Gunshots rang out as I emerged through the office doors. Eli had downed about a third of the men with his pistol but continued to shoot into the crowd of strangers at any opportunity.

Then, I saw her. A girl had taken my place at Eli's side, ducking down along the countertop. He must have helped her. As proficient as Eli was with a gun, he wouldn't be able to keep them at bay for long. I ran to the sealed doors occupying the dead, unbolted the locks, and threw them open, shouting, "Go, NOW."

Eli turned his gun on the dead, shooting the too-close-for-comfort growlers off my front. I spun on my heel and lunged toward the ground as bullets cascaded over me, drilling through the first wave of growlers. Bodies and bullets landed in every direction as I army crawled toward Chey's corpse. The combined chaos of lights, sounds, and growlers made for the perfect cover as I emerged from the pileup with Chey's walkie.

I bolted blindly for the doors that we'd entered through, praying silently that I wasn't far behind Eli and the girl. Heaving in air, I yelled into the walkie breathlessly, "Avett we need your help! Come to the school. We're coming through the south entrance."

I bypassed our entry point at the pool in favor of the previously locked set of doors we'd initially tried to access. Unhinging the lock, I was met with the sting of fresh air, the _crack_ of a shotgun, and a line of headlights burning through my corneas.

Abruptly, I understood what Pandora must have felt like after opening the box. It was like I was tripping on some kind of drug, overwhelmed by the buzz of flickering lights, the ricochet of shells hitting concrete, the sound of bodies smacking the ground, and the fire alarm playing its repetitive melody.

Maybe Avett was right. In that moment, it occurred to me that I'd downright deserved to be abandoned in a sea of the dead.

Then, I heard a stranger's laughter, cutting through my thoughts like a machete to flesh. A shadow emerged from the blinding light, _his_ piercing stare holding me in place like a deer in headlights. He moved toward me. Given the darkness coupled with inundating, bright lights, I couldn't make out much.

"Well look what we've got here." his voice was somehow clear as day in the midst of the pandemonium unfolding in the school's parking lot. I was suddenly aware of the danger. Five or six barrels were pointed in my direction, their owners' fingers locked on the guns’ triggers.

The man who spoke reached toward me. I recoiled, as though his touch might just melt my skin. He was faster; the stranger began yanking me forward by the wrist. As we moved, I began to process their numbers. Dozens of men were stationed around a line of vehicles, all well-armed and wearing scowls. The man threw me forward, bloodying my knees and hands with scrapes.

I sat up, my eyes meeting Eli's somber expression. Both he and the girl from the school's front office were being made to kneel. I looked around. Men with guns were stationed everywhere. My eyes went wide as they landed on Avett. He, too, was kneeling at the feet of the armed men. He didn't bother to look up. Surely, he would never speak to me again if we survived this. But how had he gotten to the school so quickly? Right now, it didn’t really matter.

We'd been caught red-handed.


	2. Blood Contract

We were caged. Like animals in a pen anticipating the pokes and prods of the zookeeper. Or, in this case, we were more like scraps of bloodied meat waiting to be fed to the goddamned tiger. And that's what this man was- a full-on fucking carnivore. Palpitations hammering in my chest intensified as he came into view, emerging from the blackness like something out of a nightmare. His colossal hands gripped the base of a bat, blood-soaked, steel wire coiling around its barrel and velvet droplets dripping from its barbs like fangs protruding the lips of a monster. We craned our necks upward to fully take-in the man's towering, broad shouldered figure, god-like in comparison with our microscopic, kneeling frames. He wore a wicked smile, laughing, dark eyes flickering across the faces of his mortified victims.

"I've just got one simple fuckin' question for you all to answer," he drawled, pacing in a predatory circle before coming to a halt in front of the girl Eli had rescued, "Who the fuck orchestrated this shit?" There it was. The question, or rather, accusation, that flooded my nerves with fear and dread until I appeared little more than a quaking, red-faced child beneath his authoritative glare.

"And just so there's no fuckin' confusion, I mean who came up with the brilliant idea of killing my men and taking off with my wife?" the end of his bat met the girl's chin, evoking a sob from the young woman. Words failed me, the wheels in my brain spinning so rapidly that I thought I might short circuit. Eli and Avett were glued to their places, taking in the sight of the pissed-off man with wide, horrified eyes. We didn't answer. Hell, we couldn't. And this man certainly didn't appreciate the resulting silence.

But then, he laughed. The harsh, hollow sound echoing against my eardrums. "Jesus. I get it. You're right. That was real fuckin' rude. Where are my manners? We haven't even been introduced and I'm already askin' you all to drop your goddamned panties." He retracted the bat, slinging it over his shoulder and resuming his graceful, semi-circular stride.

"Hi. I'm Negan. And you- you're all the sons of bitches that killed my men. So tell me, which one of you sorry fucks is in charge?"

We exchanged panicked glances. Avett practically quaked beneath the sight of Negan's bloodied slugger, his harsh breath wavering with each strained gulp of air. Then, there was Eli. Perhaps it was the sudden rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins that caused him to knot his fingers into a tight fist and slam his knuckles into the jugular of Negan's nearest man. Eli floored him before finding himself pinned beneath half a dozen other bodies, his wild eyes narrowing on Negan as he struggled to break their hold. Negan chuckled at the sight of Eli flailing beneath the dead weight of his men. Bending down and leaning forward until Negan hovered just inches from Eli's scowling face, he taunted, "That's real fuckin' cute," then patted his cheek with a gloved hand.

“Fuckin' piece of shit!” Eli thrashed as a debilitating kick was delivered to his side. He folded up in pain.

The sight was cringe-worthy, but my resulting slip of tongue succeeded in pulling the gazes of every last set of eyes in my direction.

"I killed your men," I whispered, my meek words barely gripping Negan's attention. And it wasn't a lie. I had suggested we use the fire alarm to draw out the growlers. I instructed Eli to shoot his firearm into the crowd of Negan's men until they resembled little more than blood-gushing swiss cheese. And I incidentally arranged for the escape of this woman, who was apparently Negan's wife.

Negan's dangerous stare shifted to my trembling figure, his "big bad" charade crumbling, displaced by a new, wholly terrifying persona. His untamed, wolfish smile widened, serpent-like tongue slithering over his dry lips. Resuming his previous stance, Negan strolled toward me with a maniacal, shit-eating grin. He halted in front of me. Even our sheer difference in size was enough to provoke the palpitations fluttering in my chest. I thought my brain might just explode as he pursed his lips to speak.

"Well, darlin', you must have some bowling ball sized kahunas, thinkin' you can fuck me over." As determined as I was to appear brave in the face of this murderous madman, I was certain that I looked like a cowardice, cornered animal.

"Now, this really isn't very complicated," he continued, "I talk, you listen. I ask, you answer. Capiche?"

I nodded, the leather-bound demon swimming before my glassy eyes.

"Good. What's your name, sweetheart?"

After hesitating for a moment, I answered, "Rori."

Much to my bewilderment, there was a fleeting instance of some unreadable emotion that crossed Negan's face. His eyebrows rose, lips parting slightly before his calm, calculated expression returned.

"Rori, huh?" he paused, grazing his salt and pepper beard with the stroke of his thumb, "Well, Rori, I don't think you've grasped the gravity of our situation here. Killing my men-that is so not fucking cool."

Then, Negan hunched over, his bat poised under my nose, the crimson teeth of his slugger so close that the metallic scent of blood hung in the air. He inhaled.

"But don't worry, sweetheart. We'll catch you up to speed here, real quick," his dark, threatening stare was like an inescapable abyss. An erratic pulse flooded my ears. "Like I was sayin', you're about to regret the shit you pulled. Fuck yes you will," he purred. Low, gravelly voice emphasizing each threatening syllable.

He straightened to observe our groveling stances. "As fuckin' stupid as you all may very well be, it isn't hard. Hell, I'll even spell it out for ya. We are the new world order. And this is evolution." Negan paused, gesturing dramatically to his men, who surveyed us from the shadows like a pack of hungry wolves. "Believe me. I do not enjoy bashing your fuckin' brains in with Lucille here," Negan lowered the bat, the blood-stained fangs of his killing instrument shimmering in the light, "but sometimes she just can't help herself. She gets real fuckin' thirsty. And who am I to say she can't help herself to a mother fuckin' drink when there's a feast waitin' at the goddamned table."

Then, he did something that rendered me speechless. Negan nodded toward one of the men stationed behind me. In response, the man pulled me up by my collar, tossing me forward. I stumbled, catching my balance as Lucille was pushed into my arms. A smirking Negan put his hands on my shoulders and spun me around to face my awe-struck friends. His touch was like fire on my skin. Lips hovering at my ear, my spine splintered beneath his chilling words, _"So, Rori. You like to make tough choices, huh? Think you got what it takes to lead an army in this shithole of a world?"_ his amused expression darkened as he pulled away, stepping back and leaving me with the uncomfortable weight of the barbed slugger in my shaking hands.

"Well, goddamned do I wanna see that shit!" My mind went numb at the words that followed. I was rooted in place, paralyzed. "Alright, hot shot. Let's see it. You like to make tough calls? Here's one-take Lucille there and bash in one of your friend's skulls or I'll let her have her way with them both. And it sure as fuck will not be pretty. No it will not."

The crowd of Negan's men roared to life. Somehow, I'd become the star of his show. As I looked around at my jeering audience, I couldn't breathe. My pale skin became ghost-like as I gripped the base of the bat with white-knuckled, dirt-laden fingers. The sight of Lucille trembling in my hands was enough to evoke a scoff from Negan.

"We ain't got all day, sweetheart. No need for stage fright. I wanna see you piñata the shit outta someone's skull," he commanded, arms folded over his broad chest and toe tapping the ground with marked impatience.

"You've got five seconds. Get it done."

In spite of the morning chill, a sheen layer of sweat coated my skin. _Was this guy serious?_

"Four…"

I didn't budge.

"Three…"

 _Fuck._ He wasn't stopping. He wasn't even hesitating. Could I actually go through with this?

"Two…" Negan took a step toward me. _Fuck. Fuck. **Fuck.**_ This was real. Was it possible to choose just one? It didn't matter. He would decide for me.

"One…" Tears stung the corners of my eyes as my shoulders slouched forward, lowering the bat to the ground. Its barbs grazed the earth with two swift taps. I squared my feet and bent my knees, planting my back foot with such force that the lining of my sneaker bit into my heel.

"I'm so sorry, E," I sobbed, my incoherent apology muffled by the deafening pleas of the other semi-circle-bound captives. Eli knit his fingers into tight fists, wide, fear-induced gaze boring into the ground like blades of grass were the most goddamned interesting thing he'd ever seen. I tightened my grasp on the bat. Raised my arms. Pivoted my torso. And lunged forward until the splintering, hollow _crack_ of flesh to steel railed against my eardrums. Images of Eli's blood sputtering, disjointed jaw and the raw, exposed tendons in his neck ingrained themselves into the deepest, darkest corners of my mind. It was then that I realized. Holy fuck. _I missed_. Eli was still very much alive, gasping like a fish out of water as his fingers shot up and around his exposed jugular, the velvet liquid cascading over his hands and wrists until a second, savage _crack_ slung blood and gore across the ghastly-pale faces of my broken audience. And even still, after a labored breath, _he was alive._

Every physical and emotional nerve in my body screamed, but I couldn't stop. I drove the slugger into Eli's skull for a third, fourth, and fifth swing until my tremoring hands could no longer bear Lucille's weight. It was only the metallic _clang_ of the barbs against dirt that finally yanked me from my hypnotic spell. As I awoke, my eyes consumed, but couldn't digest the sight of Eli, his broken flesh and bone shattered beneath steel barbs. An inaudible scream reverberated meaninglessly in the background, but I was numb. Retreating within myself as I always did when the world spun in unintelligible circles.

And then, I saw Avett, whose face contorted into a nasty grimace, sucking in gulps of air through shaking breaths and gritted teeth. Meanwhile, ear-piercing screams caught in Negan's wife's throat. I was dizzy, as though the world were suddenly standing on its side. It was all I could manage to blame myself- to blame the baseball bat wielding monster whose barking laughter seemed to flood the entirety of the campus.

Before I could process the sensation of my feet propelling me forward and hot tears pouring down my cheeks, I was thrashing against Negan's forceful grip. Not half a second later, he had me face first in the dirt, arms pinned and a knee jabbed against my spine. Winding his fingers through my knotted curls, he forced me to look at Eli, lowering his lips to a hover at my ear.

 _"That, right there, is what happens when you cross me. Now, I'm a pretty fuckin' charitable guy-after all, only one of your friends is dead-but let's make one thing clear: just because I spare your life doesn't mean I won't make every goddamned second of it a living hell,"_ he spat vehemently, letting my head hit the ground as he released me and shifted his weight to stand.

Suddenly, I glowered, the grounding sensation of fear replaced by blood boiling beneath my pasty skin. Negan was just barely on his feet when I rolled over, jumped up, and landed the hardest punch I'd ever thrown against his jaw.

"Fuck you," I sobbed, battering Negan with repeated hits and punches.

Seconds later, his enormous fingers clenched my throat with searing ferocity, throttling me against a nearby tree. Even his men appeared perturbed when, unexpectedly, Negan's stone-cold rage shifted into a wild grin. His eyes smiled; our pain was little more than a side-splitting joke for this sick fuck. Deafening moments felt like hours as he seemed to stare into my soul.

"Take the spare and go. I need to have a chat with this one," Negan barked at his men, the remnants of a smirk permanently etched on his face. They spared little time jumping to action. Carrying on in a business-like fashion, they loaded Avett and the girl-Negan's wife-into a van with guns pressed firmly to their spines. Then, their vehicles roared to life and they disappeared at the tree line.

My breath hitched beneath his constricting fingers, stomach dropping as I realized we were alone. All the while, Negan's dangerous gaze never faltered. When the revving of car engines faded into the distance, he dropped me. I fell to my knees. Coughing and gagging, I drank in the air between gasps.

"You've got one hell of a mouth on you, sweetheart."

"Ain't that like the pot calling the kettle black?" I quipped, my narrowed eyes shooting at him like a sharpened set of daggers.

"Fuck, doll. It sure as shit feels like you're beggin' to die today." The sting of Lucille's barb slicing my cheek caused my muscles to tense. Unconsciously, I scurried backward, desperate to put distance between myself and the madman. Propping Lucille along the side of a tree, Negan bent over me, gripping my ankles and reeling me in between his legs.

"I'll be honest, hon. You're testing my patience. Let's make this shit easy. After all, you ain't got many options," he snickered at his own remark before proceeding, "Let's hear it. I need to know your sorry for that disrespectful shit you just pulled."

The sudden, icy contact of metal to flesh caused my heart to lurch in my chest. My throat closed at the metallic click of Negan's finger on the gun's trigger; heavy limbs kept me bound in this seemingly infinite moment.

"I'm sorry," I finally croaked, the words like poison in my cotton-dry mouth.

He sneered, "I guaran-fuckin'-tee you can grovel better than that, Rori." I dug my teeth into my lower lip, his pistol's barrel practically burning a hole through my splintering skull.

"Please don't kill me," I whimpered and after a lifetime of waiting, he hummed with satisfaction, tucking the gun into his waistband and straightening up.

"Now was that so fuckin' hard? You'd think I was the one asking you to pull the goddamned trigger…oh-wait. Guess we already played that scenario out, huh?"

I couldn't believe this shit. He was outright mocking me, basically pissing on Eli's grave as I begged for my life. I felt sick. Vulnerable. His words were like nails being hammered into my brain. Yet in spite of my grief, I was alive. Still breathing. A beating heart pumping blood through my veins. Excitement burned behind Negan's eyes. He was in control. He had power. And I was going to take it away.

"You know, I bet Lucille was one bloody fucking bitch," I sang behind cold eyes. I couldn't deny the smug satisfaction my words produced when Negan's entire body tensed, his expression brimming with a combination of outrage and horror. I should have been afraid when his hand blindly reached for Lucille, but as the knob of his bat clocked my head, I felt nothing.


End file.
